


let all mortal flesh keep silence

by ernestdummkompf (JehanFerres)



Category: Gilbert & Sullivan & Related Fandoms, Iolanthe - Sullivan/Gilbert
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, i wrote this to cope with some homophobia i was experiencing, so it's not...up to much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-14
Updated: 2017-07-14
Packaged: 2018-12-02 06:57:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11504103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JehanFerres/pseuds/ernestdummkompf
Summary: “I feel like I can work with that,” Mountararat said. “We have… six months left until the next set of auditions.”“Enough time to change some policies, I think,” Tolloller said.





	let all mortal flesh keep silence

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this some months ago, because i was experiencing some homophobia, so i projected it onto Mine Own Sweet Boys rather than dealing with it in a...idk, healthy way. the title is just the name of what i was listening to at the time when i decided to post this but it ALMOST works.
> 
> (ya know that post about the person who single-handedly minus one fic filled an entire relationship tag on ao3? yeah, that's the way i am as a person with these boys.)

“What was Celia saying earlier?”

If there was one thing to be said for being poor students sharing a flat which had internet which was at best patchy and a broken boiler, Tolloller thought, it was that in the evenings after rehearsals, he and Mountararat could sit together under a blanket and talk about what had happened that day. They had been doing it since their first year at University, because even though they pretended to hate each-other, it was two of them, living together, in a two-bedroom flat about the size of two shoeboxes stitched together.

Of course they liked each-other.

“What do you mean?” Tolloller took the cup of tea that Mountararat had proffered and put it on the table next to his laptop as Mountararat curled up into a ball under the blankets.

“I  _mean_ , idiot, when she was talking to you during rehearsal.” Leila had managed to get Mountararat into a corner. He assumed that they had both been grabbed by the two girls for the same reason.

“They have a friend,” Tolloller explained, taking a sip of his tea. Mountararat regarded him coldly from behind his glasses. “He lost out on playing a role in another company because the casting director found out that he’s got a boyfriend, apparently.”

Mountararat’s eyebrows shot up. Tolloller laughed, fondly, into his tea. “She wanted to know if I had any words of encouragement for the guy.”

Mountararat cast him a look, once again, over his coffee. “Right, because you, a straight man, would have  _anything_  to say about that,” he said. “Not that it isn’t  _bad_ , of course, but what can  _you_ , personally, say that would help?”

Tolloller shrugged, not looking directly at Mountararat and swirling the tea around in his mug. After a few seconds of mildly awkward silence, Mountararat apparently realised that he had said something foolish, and slumped sideways against Tolloller, getting his phone out of his pocket.

“Remind me, again, why they gave  _us_  the social media job?” he asked, absently, scrolling down. “Because I don’t understand any of this, and the Twitter app is broken.”

Tolloller had seen what Mountararat still assumed was his “personal” Twitter, that nobody he knew personally knew about. Mountararat knew, full well, how to use Twitter, and frankly Tolloller didn’t know entirely what to do about it. If he told Mountararat “by the way, I found your Twitter, and, uh, are you alright?”, it would inevitably result in sulking. At the same time, he did want to be supportive.

“Anyway,” Mountararat piped up, after a minute or two. “Leila wanted me for the same thing.”

“Ah.” Mountararat’s obsession with corroborating facts and evidence annoyed Tolloller no end. “And?”

“Nothing much I can say, either. Being straight.” He shrugged one shoulder fairly casually, but he had sounded defensive, Tolloller noticed. Clearly, neither of them was ever going to be able to come out to the other, and they would be stuck, eternally, in mutual pining.

Mountararat was still on his phone, now on Facebook, and still leaning against Tolloller, who was trying to drink his tea as quickly as possible in the hopes of being slightly warmer than he currently was. At least Mountararat leaning against him was allowing him to leech some body heat.

He had finished his tea and nearly fallen asleep, using Mountararat’s slightly-more-bulky-than-him frame to lean against so he wouldn’t collapse entirely, when Mountararat suddenly made a noise halfway between a growl and a shriek and sat bolt upright. Tolloller yelped and inexplicably grabbed the cushion on his lap to try to steady himself. Obviously, this failed: he ended up slumped backwards over Mountararat’s legs, and in a fairly bad mood.

“What the fuck, mate?”

“Sorry.” Mountararat lifted his hand, which he had pressed accidentally into Tolloller’s sternum when the latter had fallen down, and helped Tolloller back up. “Apparently…” Mountararat searched for a more socially conscious word than the one he had just seen. “Apparently, LGBT people will no longer be eligible for principal roles with  _our_ company.”

Tolloller, incredulous, picked his phone up from where it had fallen on the floor. “What the fuck?”

“Facebook group.”

“Celia messaged me,” Tolloller said.

Mountararat had shuffled away from him. “She messaged me too.”

“It’s in the group chat, George,” Tolloller pointed out. Mountararat gave him a look which Tolloller would probably characterise as “scared” at the mention of his first name.

“So it is.” Mountararat squinted.

Celia had posted a startlingly long message in the group chat that the four of them shared, while Leila had offered a more succinct “ _what the fuck. WHAT the FUCK_ ”, followed by several angry emojis.

“For once, Leila and I agree on something,” Mountararat grumbled, pushing his hair back off his face.

“I mean,” Tolloller said, voice and hands fluttering somewhat as they tended to do when he was agitated, “how are they going to  _know_?” He leaned his head miserably back against the headboard.

Mountararat considered telling him to quit flapping his hands, but he wasn’t really annoyed, and it would have seemed cruel. Either way, he was beginning to get the feeling that something was going to happen.

“I  _mean_ ,” Tolloller said, with more emphasis that was natural for him. “It isn’t like  _every gay person_  is going to be _obviously_  gay.”

“You’re riled up.” Mountararat sometimes found that stating the obvious was the best way to get some sense out of Tolloller when he was particularly incoherently angry. This was almost certainly going to be one of those times.

“Yes, George, I’m riled up,” Tolloller said, bitterly. “Because, frankly,  _I’m_  gay, and…” He cut himself off rather than making Mountararat do it himself, worried by the gravity of what he had just said.

“Well, you’ve done a good job at pretending that I don’t know for three years,” Mountararat said, with little emotion. “I’ve done better.”

Tolloller gave Mountararat a look that he assumed meant “ _how did I not realise until literally just this minute?_ ”, but that really meant “ _great, so I_ could _have slept with him already_ ”. It didn’t seem like an appropriate point at which to bring up the fact that he had known that Mountararat wasn’t straight for about two years.

“Look, should I go and make us more tea, or…?” Mountararat was surprised that his natural response to stress of this level was “better go and make some tea”, but it seemed to work. Usually.

“Oh, for  _fuck’s_  sake.” Tolloller grabbed Mountararat before he could move off the sofa and kissed him. For a second, more because he wasn’t sure what was actually happening than because he didn’t  _want_  it to be happening, Mountararat froze, but leaned into it.

“I mean,” Mountararat said, partly to break the slightly embarrassed silence, “that did not answer the question.”

“If anything, it complicated the question,” Tolloller said, with a slightly self-satisfied look. “Please, go and make tea if you feel like making tea.” He leaned his head back against the sofa. “Tea, specifically.”

“See, I was  _going_  to make tea, right up until the point at which you said that. Now, you are going to be subjected to any random beverage.” Mountararat grinned at him.

“Like freshers’ all over again,” Tolloller said sarcastically, giving Mountararat his mug, which had miraculously  _not_ upturned itself all over the carpet.

“There are probably things that we need to think about,” Mountararat said, with a degree of presumption that would have annoyed Tolloller, were it coming from literally any other person. As it was, though, Tolloller found it rather endearing.

“Are either of those things called Celia or Leila?”

“They,” Mountararat said, sitting back down beside Tolloller on the sofa, “are almost certainly the least of our worries.”

“Well, are you up for a change of allegiance?” Tolloller was still leaning against Mountararat, who had managed to position himself in a way that allowed Tolloller to put his arm around him and still drink his tea.

“I feel like I can work with that,” Mountararat said. “We have… six months left until the  _next_  set of auditions.”

“Enough time to change some policies, I think,” Tolloller said.


End file.
